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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350254">Jack's Tins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flame_05/pseuds/Flame_05'>Flame_05</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arthur Whump, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Protective Arthur, Young Jack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:29:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flame_05/pseuds/Flame_05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur sets out on a quick, simple, shopping errand for wee Jack.</p><p>Things do not go well. At all.</p><p>Featuring mistaken identity, lawmen shootout, bears, bar fights, O'Driscoll' and then very worried Hosea and Dutch in dad-mode. And a LOT of Arthur whump.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Part1:</p><p>It was early afternoon and Arthur had not long returned to camp after a four day excursion. Very successful, he had returned with his satchel full of cash, and even a large buck and several rabbits for Pearson.</p><p>Wearing a fresh change of clothes,  with warm coffee in hand, Arthur was relaxed and ambling around camp saying hello and catching up with his camp family. </p><p>As much as he liked getting out on his own, he had to admit that he never liked being gone for too long. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pearson stomping about, gesturing wildly with his arms. Arthur was too far away to hear what he was grumbling about, and deliberately changed direction to avoid him. Pearson always had something trivial to complain about, but for the rest of the day Arthur planned on some much deserved relaxation, which most certainly did not involve listening to Pearson ramble on.</p><p> He sat with the girls and listened to their chatter absentmindedly, until with a groan he realised that Pearson had snuck up behind him. </p><p>“Thief, Mr Morgan! Here in camp!”</p><p>“What are you talkin’ about, Pearson? We’re all thieves here, we’re outlaws for cryin’ out loud.” Arthur shook his head as the girls suppressed giggles, but Pearson did not let up.</p><p>“I don’t mind people taking an extra bit of food every so often, or you men stocking up before going out on a long job, but nearly as soon as I restock on tinned pears and strawberries, suddenly they’ve all gone again! I will not tolerate thievery from my kitchen.”</p><p>“Wagon, Pearson, wagon,” Arthur interrupted. Grudgingly he realised that Pearson was right to be annoyed, it was his responsibility to maintain food stocks, and with so many mouths to feed the continual disappearance of specific supplies was indeed a nuisance. Sighing again, Arthur looked Pearson in the eye, and assured him that he’d keep an eye out and try to figure out who their food thief was. </p><p>Coffee finished, Arthur stood and started towards his tent, longing to stretch out on his cot, when he noticed Abigail looking unusually worried...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I'll be back by this time tomorrow...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Part2:</p><p>“There she is”, Abigail jumped as Arthur stepped over to her, she was definitely worrying over something. “That boy of yours behaving himself?” </p><p>“of course he is”, Abigail answered rather too quickly, and rather too sharply. Arthur raised his eyebrows at her. Catching his expression she sighed, and looked around to ensure no one else was within earshot.<br/>“It’s just that…well you know how Pearson gets. Those treats just make Jack so happy, and there’s so much we can’t give him livin’ this sort of life, I figure what harm’ll a few tins of of pears and strawberries do?”</p><p>“Ahh, so Miss Roberts and young Master Jack are our camp food thieves” Arthur chuckled, but quickly stopped when he saw how stricken Abigail looked. </p><p>“It’s not thievin’! Not really. Oh please Arthur, don’t tell Pearson, or Dutch!”</p><p>“I won’t be tellin’ anyone Abigail, there’s no harm done as far as I can see. I tell you what, you stop eh, borrowing, from the camp supplies and I’ll get Jack his very own personal supply, with all the tinned pears and strawberries he could ever need. You leave it to me.” </p><p>Abigail visibly relaxed and began smiling as she thanked Arthur, who made his way back to his tent and began to prepare to leave camp again. As much as he longed for a day off, Jack was like a nephew to him, and a simple shopping trip was no trouble. Not likely that John was going to step up any time soon and actually start doing some fathering. The least Arthur could do was help Abigail spoil the boy a bit. </p><p>“Leaving again so soon, Arthur?” Dutch jovially boomed from behind him. </p><p>“Just got a quick errand to run, won’t take long, I’ll be back by this time tomorrow.” Arthur reassured Dutch. Wishing him good luck, Dutch returned to his own tent while Arthur headed to his horse. While there were closer stores, he decided he’d head to Strawberry. He had another horse stabled there so could check in on him, purchase all the tinned fruit he needed from the general store, and then have a most comfortable nights sleep in their somewhat grand hotel. </p><p>Simple plan in his head, Arthur set out riding on what he thought would be a short, uneventful trip.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Mistaken Identity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Part3:</p><p>After having spent an hour or so with his spare horse at the stable, and chatting to the friendly stable hands, Arthur headed into the quaint little town of Strawberry. Nodding his head to a few folk as he passed, he strolled into the general store. </p><p>He had just paid for the tinned pears and strawberries when the shopkeeper, somewhat angrily, declared “I know your face!” Perplexed, Arthur calmly assured him that he did not. There was no way that any Wanted posters for the Van Der Linde gang had made him recognisable in Strawberry. He began to leave but was stopped as another customer pulled their gun on him.</p><p>“Whoa there gents, you’ve got this all wrong! I’m just passin’ through is all, not here to make trouble.” Arthur tried to calm the situation, but another customer had started to enter the store, eyes widening at the scene, then ducked back out hollering for the sheriff. </p><p>“There’s no escaping now, Mr Doherty! The laws gon’ make your answer for what you did!” The shop keeper spat at him. Utterly bewildered, Arthur tried telling them he had never heard of no Doherty, but as his words fell on deaf ears Arthur lunged out. With one swift move he had grabbed the gun from the other customer, and pointing it between him and the store owner, began to step back towards the rear exit of the store. He could not believe his bad luck. Lithely, he stepped out the door, eyes darting for an escape route, and settled with climbing onto the store rooftop. At least from there he could see and hear what was going on, and if he lay flat and quietly enough, the soon-to-arrive lawmen would most likely get confused and widen their search away from the store, allowing Arthur to escape. </p><p>“At least I’ve got Jack’s damn tins” Arthur mumbled to himself and he tried to get comfortable hiding on the roof. In a few hours it would be dark, and slipping out of the town would be a doddle.</p><p>☆</p><p>Arthur lay on his back flat against the roof, being as silent as he could to ensure he wouldn’t be spotted. Looking up at the stars he resisted the urge to curse out loud, and curse whoever this Doherty man was whom he'd been mistaken for. Not long after scrambling onto the roof he had heard the Sheriff talking to the store owner, both soon joined by more lawmen and men of the town, who all began searching for ‘Doherty’. </p><p>The shouts had eventually quietened, and as heavy rain began he could hear most of the men abandon their search and head to the warmth of their homes. After that, it became hard to listen to any passing voices over the volume of the rain, but he daren’t risk moving yet. A good few hours later, Arthur was thoroughly miserable. Cold, wet, and restless, he decided to make a move as the dawn broke.</p><p> Ever so slowly, he creeped up to the tallest point of the roof, peeking over towards the Sheriff office.<br/>“Shit!” He scrambled back as a bullet embedded itself into the wood a few inches away from him, sending splinters flying. How had that bastard seen him?! It took only a few moments for a mess of shouting and footsteps as lawmen began to fire towards him. </p><p>Arthur drew his volcanic pistol from his holster and, with some regret, began to fire back at the lawmen. <br/>What a goddamn mess, he thought. Blood and screams filled the street, several bullets hitting far too close to Arthur for his liking. He didn’t particularly want to have to kill all these people, but he didn’t plan on taking a bullet himself. Arthur always suspected that he’d meet his death at the end of a gun, but not today, and certainly not while out on a shopping errand! </p><p>Gritting his teeth, Arthur fired off a hail of bullets as he jumped from the roof, landing painfully in the mud but wasting no time in starting to run. Breathing heavily, he run across the bridge, letting out a grunt as he felt a bullet graze his right side and another tear straight through his upper left arm. Grabbing the wound tight he felt hot blood ooze out, saturating his shirt and leaving a trail on the ground as he continued running. He took temporary cover behind a wall, breathing hard from exertion and pain.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Bullet Wounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur knew that it wouldn’t take long for the lawmen to spot him again, and it sounded like more men of the town were joining the manhunt. If they caught him, then even after realising that he wasn’t this Docherty whom he had been mistaken for, they would either realise that he was a Van Der Linde gang member and hand him over the Pinkertons or just hang him straight away for having now shot so many of their men in his escape. </p><p>Those were not options which particularly appealed to Arthur, so despite the worrying bleeding from the two gunshots wounds, he turned and run, literary for his life, up a rocky incline and into the woodland. </p><p>Not an area he knew particularly well, for the time being Arthur was more concerned with putting as much distance between himself and the town as he could, and getting his bearings later. He knew he needed to find a good spot to lay low and do his best to tend to his wounds. Bleeding so heavily, he knew he wouldn’t be hard to track down if the lawmen sent dogs after him. He choose not to think too hard about what predatory animals might prowl these woods, smelling his blood, and seeing him as an easy target. </p><p>When he knew he couldn’t run any more, he stopped behind a thick tree, trying to catch his breath while scanning the area. Eyes resting on a climbable looking tree, he wearily trudged over to it and then, gritting his teeth through the pain, he began to climb to what he hoped would be temporary safety.</p><p> </p><p>Using the few medical supplies in his satchel, Arthur did his best to tend his wounds. His shoulder however was most concerning. The bullet had gone straight through, missing bone, but Arthur was sure a fair amount of muscle had been damaged. With no materials to stitch the wound, he improvised by wadding bandages into the open wounds, he could only hope that no infection would set in.</p><p>His escape from the lawmen combined with the lack of sleep while hiding the previous night had left Arthur exhausted and against his will, his eyes began to close on him. His last thought before sleep took hold was to hope that he didn’t end up falling off the high branch he was perched on.</p><p>Waking several hours later, Arthur felt somewhat better. He devoured some salted venison from his satchel, then carefully climbed back down the tree. Still in thick woodland, he picked a direction and started walking, hoping to find his way out of the woods to a road, and also hoping that the Strawberry lawmen had abandoned their chase. </p><p>A few weary miles later, Arthur found himself in wide open meadow, abundant with wildflowers, wild horses and deer. Spotting a stream on the far side, he headed in that direction. He was definitely dehydrated, and he could attempt to better clean his wounds with the fresh running water. When he reached the shallow stream he knelt and used his hand to scoop the tantalizing cool water into his mouth, letting out a content sigh.</p><p> Faintly hearing something, he stood, hoping to spot a traveller, or hunter, who could tell him where he was, or perhaps even accept payment to take him back near town. Arthur was confident that if he waited till dark, he was confidant that if he waited till dark, he could sneak back into Strawberry, get his horse, and head straight back to camp and end this troublesome shopping trip. </p><p>Turning towards the noise, Arthur froze. That was a bear. A damn grizzly was hurtling towards him, seemingly very unhappy for Arthur to have invaded their territory. A. Goddamn. Bear.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Bear's Supper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before Arthur had a chance to draw his gun, the huge beast was on top of him, winding him as he was knocked hard with his back against the rough ground. Sending spittle flying as it roared angrily, Arthur struggled beneath it’s huge weight as he tried desperately to reach for a weapon. The bear suddenly lunged its jaw downwards, biting into the side of his torso. Arthur gargled as he was overtaken by blinding pain, the bears jaws remaining tightly clamped as he felt warm blood begin to gush out of him. </p><p>Blindly, he tried to grab for his knife, succeeding after a few more agonising moments, and put all his strength into stabbing his hunting knife into the grizzly. </p><p>Roaring in anger, it released his side but even as Arthur tried his hardest to scare it off with his knife, he knew as it lowered its head for another bite that he wouldn’t be surviving this. </p><p>He thought longingly of his tent at camp, and of Hosea and Dutch who would never know what had happened to him and why he would never come home. </p><p>He gripped his knife harder, holding on desperately to consciousness even as he felt the bears teeth start to sink back into his side.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Trapper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pain. Pain was all he knew. That and…he was still alive? Struggling to climb back to consciousness, Arthur could hear the crackling of fire and a man humming. With a lot of effort, and a few failed attempts, he opened his eyes. Blinking sluggishly he located a man sitting nearby, humming while reading a book, a lean-to shack further behind him. Arthur tried to sit up but was overtaken by agony.</p><p>“Easy there, son, you’re pretty darn cut up from that grizzly.” The man spoke softly, as he came to kneel beside Arthur. “Wasn’t sure if I’d been too late to save you, took quite a few bullets to scare that beast away and you seemed to be more blood than man. I might’ve injured your ribs further getting’ you on my horse to ride back ‘ere, but the way I saw it, it was that or leave you there to die.”</p><p>Arthur nodded slowly, still not entirely lucid but understanding enough to know that this man had saved him, and didn’t seem to mean him any harm. Before he could help himself, he’d slipped back into a dreamless sleep.</p><p>Opening his eyes again, he felt considerably more awake this time, and with a bit of difficulty managed to sit up. Scanning his surroundings again, he thought it seemed vaguely familiar. A Trappers camp, one he must have visited during a hunt at some point. The man reappeared and beamed at Arthur, seeming genuinely happy to see him awake again. </p><p>“Seems like my medical skills are still up to scratch after all, how are you doin’ mister…?”</p><p>“Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” Arthur replied, his voice gravelly from disuse. “Thank you, for helping me. So eh, what exactly happened?” </p><p>The trapped began to animatedly tell Arthur how he scared the bear off, then began cooking a hearty stew, insisting that Arthur remain there for the night, figuring out tomorrow how to get him home.</p><p>“I hope you don’t mind Arthur, but I helped myself to a few of those tinned strawberries and pears from your bag. I’m not often at a store and that sweet taste was just too tempting!” </p><p>“S’alright”, Arthur chuckled, while internally cursing. All the bizarre bad luck of the last few days yet here he was back to square one, without the damned tins he had set out to buy for Jack!</p><p> </p><p>The trapper had had a gruesome job of stitching Arthur up, the bear having added to the bullet wounds he had already endured with thanks to the Strawberry lawmen. All sides of his torso were littered with nasty scratches from the bears claws and mottled with purple darkening bruising. The worst injuries were the deep lacerations from where the bear sunk its teeth into his side, cracking ribs in the process. Reluctantly, even his usual standard of willpower and stubbornness couldn’t get him moving just yet. </p><p>Arthur contented himself to recuperate in the Trappers camp over the next few days, enjoying being so deep in the wilderness. He was enthralled by the Trappers stories, committing some to memory to retell to his family when he returned to camp. Every time that he thought of his gang he couldn’t help but be hit by a pang of guilt. Before leaving Arthur had told Dutch he’d return to camp by that time the next day, but it had now been nearly a week, and he was still at least a two day ride away, or perhaps longer seeing as he would need to borrow a horse which he couldn’t count on riding as fast as his own. </p><p>“Thank you, mister, for all your help, but I think I should be leaving at sunrise, I’ve family that’ll be worrin’ about me.” Arthur was firm in his decision, and the Trapper sensed that urging him to spend any longer resting would be to no avail, and had to agree that his wounds had been healing well. Enjoying their last evening at the campfire together, it was decided that at first light Arthur would take one of the Trappers horse and begin his journey home. Having had to leave his mare in Strawberry, Arthur felt it was too risky to go back there so soon, but fate was smiling on him as the Trapper had three horses and was more than happy to lend Arthur one. He would ride to Valentine, where he would leave the Trappers horse stabled for the man to collect when he was next passing. From there Arthur knew it would be easy to ‘borrow’ a horse hitched around town, and make his way home.  Of course, not before a stop in Valentine general store to buy those damned tinned fruits for Jack, this time without any of the bad luck which befell him in Strawberry!</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Arrested</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It felt good to be out riding again, albeit Arthur did have to occasionally grit his teeth as the jostling of the horse aggravated his ribs, or caused tugging on some of his many stitches. </p><p>He was taking an easy pace, and resigned himself to having to spend one more night away from his family by sleeping in the Valentine hotel. In better health, he would have ridden faster and on through the night, but if he arrived to camp bleeding from burst stitches, then he would only get an earful from Hosea, Grimshaw or Dutch. Perhaps all three at once, he shuddered at the very thought. No, after leaving the Trappers horse in the stable, a night on a soft bed in a hotel would do him good before ‘borrowing’ a horse in the morning and taking the day to ride back to camp and his gang.</p><p>He owed that Trapper his life, and he fully intended to visit him in a few weeks time and insist he accept payment for his kindness. Not only had he scared off the bear, tended wounds, fed him for days, but then he had even given Arthur clean clothing before leaving. He hadn't even asked Arthur about the bullet wounds and showed him no distrust. Such kindness from a stranger was rarely found in Arthurs walk of life, and he was more than glad to have met the man. Men like that served as a reminder of that 'better' life that Arthur hoped Dutch was leading the gang towards. </p><p>Arthur started humming as he neared Valentine, happy to have left his bizarre bad luck behind.</p><p>Having left the Trappers horse with the Valentine Stables, Arthur headed to the bar with his mind set on a hot meal, to be washed down with a whiskey or two. By late evening, Arthur had long lost count of how many whiskey shots he had downed, or how many beers and gins his fellow bar patrons had bought him.</p><p>A group of about eight other men were drowning their sorrows after having lost their jobs, something about having allowed half the herd of cattle to have been rustled. Arthur did hope that that hadn’t been anything to do with his gang, although at least it should have meant a decent payday for if it had been! As the hours, and the drinks, went by the now extremely drunk group of men had taken to squabbling over who could punch the best. Inevitably, this soon morphed into a fight and ended with the Valentine lawmen herding the drunken baffoons into their jail cells for the night. </p><p>By early the next afternoon, once the lawmen had scolded the drunkards and sent them on their way, Arthur had the good sense to appreciate that such a large group meant the Sherriff hadn’t paid too much attention to each individual man, if he had then he might’ve recognised Arthur from the Van Der Linde Gang wanted posters. Mostly, however, Arthur was feeling like an utter fool. Alongside a splitting hangover headache and aching throat, it seemed like all his injuries were now heavily protesting his eventful night. </p><p>Groaning whilst walking down the mud of Valentine streets, Arthur very much lamented that he hadn’t spent the night quietly in a comfortable hotel bed like he had first intended.<br/>By good fortune he hadn’t spent all his money the night before, and had plenty left to stop in the general store and purchase an abundance of tinned pears and strawberries for Jack. His simple shopping trip might’ve gone drastically wrong, but at least he would keep his promise to Abigale and Jack. Now all he had to do was acquire a horse for his final ride home.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. O'Driscoll</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As he was leaving Valentine, Arthur ‘borrowed’ a horse which had been left hitched out of sight behind a building. A calm spirited mare with a hazel dappled coat, she would get him and his bagful of tinned fruits back to camp before nightfall. Arthur longed to sneak quietly into camp, and go straight to his bedroll, but he knew that since his “I’ll be back by this time tomorrow” trip had now spanned over a week, he had little hope of a quiet return. </p><p>Once again his injuries forced him to ride at a far slower pace than usual, however Arthur contented himself with humming and enjoying the passing nature. Less than two hours away from camp, with a ‘woah there, gurl’, he had the horse stop. Had he just heard screaming?</p><p>With the only sounds being the gentle noises from his horse, and the chattering of birds, Arthur assumed he’d imaged the scream and was just about to urge the horse onwards when the sound came again. A scream. Unmistakable, a girls frightened screams were faintly reaching him, carried by the wind from the direction of a cluster of woods a little ways off the road. </p><p>Arthur sighed, scratching his recently acquired  beard while internally arguing with himself. He was nearly home, his wounds were aching, he had only his sidearms and a horse he didn’t know well enough to rely on in a strange situation. The screaming could be for any number of reasons, and not one of them had anything to do with him. He told himself he should keep riding on towards camp and his gang family. </p><p>Sighing again, he directed the horse off the road and towards the treeline. As much as he claimed not to be a good man, he was also far from bad, and Arthur Morgan could not allow himself to ride on having heard a women in obvious distress. </p><p>Hitching the horse to a tree at the edge of the woods, Arthur readied his volcanic pistol and began to stealthily move through the woodland towards where he could hear women sobbing, and the unmistakable Irish lilt of jeering O’Driscoll’s.</p><p>Arthur kept low as he moved silently to where he could see at five O’Driscoll's around a fire, bottles in hand and drunkenly bantering with one another. Further from the fire, behind a wagon beside horses, were three sobbing women, roped together and very clearly not there by choice. Arthur damned the O’Driscolls under his breath, it was clear what their intentions with the girls were. He stayed put for a few moments, watching the men. Satisfied that, for now, they weren’t paying attention to the girls, Arthur began to creep forwards. </p><p>With the wagon as cover, he edged his way towards the captive girls, making a hushing gesture when they noticed his approach. They had no reason to trust him any more than the O’Driscoll men holding them, and Arthur knew he looked quite a sight with bruises and cuts littering all the skin he had on show. As quietly as he could, he whispered that he meant them no harm, and that if they stayed quiet he would get them out of here. </p><p>Taking his knife, he released them from the tightly tied rope, told them to wait, then knelt down on his stomach so that he could see under the wagon and count the O’Driscolls feet. Satisfied that there were all still together around the fire, Arthur crouched back up and tuned to the girls. They looked to be teenager, sisters no doubt, young and defenceless. Arthur quelled the rage growing in his gut, he knew that taking on all the O’Driscolls alone and injured would only put his own life, and that of the girls, at risk. </p><p>In a gravelly low whisper, he asked whether the girls could ride. Nodding their heads, they stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. Arthur motioned to the oldest girl to mount a horse, and helped the smaller two onto another. Unhitching the horses, he told the girls which direction the road was in, and from there which direction Rhodes, the nearest town, was. Arthur urged them to keep horses moving slowly as to stay quiet and avoid the O’Driscolls hearing their escape. He was going to cause a distraction, and as soon as the girls heard the commotion they should get the horses galloping, taking them far from danger. They nodded in understanding and muttered their thanks.</p><p>Arthur turned to the remaining O’Driscoll horses, unhitching them then scaring them into galloping off in the opposite direction of the girls. </p><p>“What in the blazes was t’at?” The noise from the horses had instantly gotten the attention of the men, who soon began to run after their escaped horses. Arthur chuckled as he watched them stagger off into the trees. He couldn’t help but feel slightly sour that he was in no fit condition to fight them, the bastards deserved a bullet to the head or knife to the throat.</p><p>Cautiously, he made sure that all the men had left the camp, then began to search in the hopes of finding some valuables. <br/>These O’Driscoll boys must have been busy, Arthur found three chest full of cash, jewellery and other valuables. Emptying two sacks of potatoes, he filled them with the loot, slinging the sacks over his shoulder with a wince as his wounds protested. </p><p>Glancing around the camp again, he smirked, he saw no reason to leave it intact. Smashing every lantern, he set the camp ablaze, then set off back through the woods towards where he had hitched his ‘borrowed’ horse. </p><p>Heading back towards the road, Arthur felt smug that his bad luck had seemingly reached its end. With an abundance of the tinned pears and strawberries for Jack, the shopping errand which had started this whole escapade, and now two sacksful of valuables for the camp funds, Arthur felt very smug indeed. </p><p>The evening dusk drew in as he got closer and closer to camp, giving Arthur the hope that the darkness would stop anyone getting too good a look at any of his injuries tonight. The Trapper had done an excellent job of stitching his many wounds, and even with his eventful ride home no stitches had burst and no infections set in. Tonight, he wanted to greet his family and then get to bed without a fuss, in the morning light no doubt Hosea and Susan would cluck over the state of him. </p><p>As Arthur reached the edge of camp he could see Karen standing on guard duty. As he neared, she gasped, and bellowed behind her,<br/>“It’s Arthur! He’s back, he’s alive!” </p><p>Uh oh, Arthur thought, perhaps his longer than planned absence had worried the gang more than he anticipated.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Dutch and Hosea</h2></a>
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    <p>No sooner had Arthur dismounted and taken a few steps into camp, every gang member seemed to have gathered around him. All talking at once, asking where’d he’d been and what had happened. Not knowing where to start, suddenly Susan’s voice shrieked over the rest of them, instructing everyone to give the man some space. Giving Arthur a warm smile and nod, she dispersed with the rest of them, leaving just Dutch, John and Hosea standing with him.</p><p>“I’m sure you’ve got quite the story, come and fill us all in once these two have finished chewin’ you out” John slapped Arthur on the shoulder, jovially leaving him alone with their two father figures. </p><p>Who both promptly started talking at once, only stopping when Arthur raised both his hands to calm them.<br/>“I’m fine, calm down, when did you two turn into mother hens” Arthur tried joking, moving off towards his tent.</p><p>“When our boy tells us he’ll be ‘back by this time tomorrow’ then vanishes for over a week!” Dutch boomed accusingly. Placing a hand on Arthurs shoulder, he steered him into his own tent and got him sat down on his cot. He and Hosea then stood with arms crossed looking down on him. </p><p>Sighing, Arthur began to give them a quick summary of events, but the moment he reached the part about being shot in Strawberry, Hosea made an alarmed noise and started fussing over Arthur, trying to remove his vest and shirt to inspect the wounds.</p><p>“M'fine Hosea, I met a trapper who patched me up and let me stay a few days” Arthur assured, gently pushing the older man away. </p><p>“A few days? For a clean-through bullet wound and graze with no infection? Doesn’t sound the sort of injury to keep you down for so long, son” Dutch’s eyes bore into him, making Arthur feel like a teenager again, caught lying.</p><p>Clearing his throat sheepishly, he added, “He might’ve found me after a grizzly decided to make a meal of me…” Seeing the alarm reignited in Dutch and Hosea’s faces, Arthur quickly added, “but he patched me up just fine, I just needed a few days to sleep it off and then the ride back was a little slow s’all.”</p><p> </p><p>Hosea let out a long sigh, “Well-tended wounds or not, don’t think that Susan and I won’t be having a look at them in the morning! For now though, how about I fix you up a plate of food and you can come join us all by the fire, give us all the details of your exploits. I’m sure it’ll make quite the story.” </p><p>“I’ll go pour you a whisky, my boy” Dutch boomed as he followed Hosea out the tent.</p><p>Before joining them by the fire, Arthur collected the bag of tins from his horse and made his way to Abigale’s tent. She was sitting reading, Jack fast asleep on his bedroll beside her. As he approached he put a finger to his lips to stop her saying anything, and gently sat down the bag beside her. She gasped in delighted surprise as she saw the copious amount of tinned pears and strawberries, enough to last for two months or more!</p><p>“Think that’ll keep the boy happy for a while. Next time you run low, you let me know. Avoid Pearson's wrath. Ain’t no bother for me.” Arthur whispered, being pulled into a hug before he could turn away.</p><p>“Oh Arthur, thank you! Jack will be so excited in the morning to see you back, we’ve all been so worried. I’ll try to keep him from waking you at the crack of dawn, it looks like you could use some rest!” Abigail gave him one last squeeze before he stepped away. </p><p>Feeling that all the unfortunate occurrences during his shopping trip had been worth it, Arthur hummed happily. Jack was as good as a nephew to him, and what was a chase with the law, bullet wounds, bear attacks, drunken arrests, and O’Driscoll encounters when compared to making the small boy happy. </p><p>Heading towards the fire to join the rest of his gang, he was intercepted by Dutch.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Those Damn Tins</h2></a>
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    <p>With one hand resting on Arthurs non-injured shoulder, Dutch looked behind him to Abigail, then back to Arthur, </p><p>“You know, I had planned on telling Pearson to stop with his whining and allow Jack to have as much tinned fruits as he liked, but I see you have taken care of the problem for me” Dutch chuckled as Arthur stood flabbergasted.</p><p>“You knew?! You might’ve told me that before I saw the need to go off and buy him his own supply!”</p><p>“Well how was I to know your little errand would go so badly? Only you, Arthur Morgan, could go out on a simple shopping trip and come back beaten and bloody.” He stopped chuckling as he looked Arthur up and down, dubious about how Arthur had played off his injuries. “Hosea was right though, you had better allow him and Susan to check on your wounds tomorrow, don’t even think about sneaking off out of camp early. I’ll lash you to your cot if I have to!” Chuckling again, Dutch gave Arthurs shoulder a squeeze before letting go, “now come sit down and regale us all with exactly what happened on your little escapade.”</p><p>Arthur followed towards the campfire. It was good to be home.</p>
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